


The Way We Are

by Sephielya_J_Maxwell



Series: The Household [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Caning, Claiming Bites, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Multi, Over the Knee, Power Dynamics, Spanking, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephielya_J_Maxwell/pseuds/Sephielya_J_Maxwell
Summary: An original Victorian era piece. Two male servants balance their duties, social morality, and their secretive relationship with one another. In this chapter, Warren puts Roland at odds with his morals and places both their jobs in jeopardy, and for what?





	The Way We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Still got any readers?

“NOW YOU LISTEN HERE!”

The sound of Mr. Johanson's raised voice wasn't an uncommon occurrence these days. Roland wasn't sure of exactly what had transpired between him Mrs. Johanson, but after the incident the latter had gone to stay with her mother as of a few nights ago, taking along her lady's maid, and had yet to return. What Roland didn't expect to hear next, was the quieter, but familiar stubborn tone of the household's nanny, Warren Sutton. The butler's steps quickened as he neared the library, Mr. Johanson's favorite place to hide away and drink. He stepped into the doorway just as Warren was punctuating his statement by holding his hands out, palm up.

“...can't bloody understand yet!” He was saying. The nanny stood in his nightclothes, linen pants and shirt, blond curls ruffled from sleep. It was well past midnight by now, so it was no small wonder.

“Ah-ha! Roland. Control your staff, man!” Mr. Johanson refused to give the butler the respect using 'Mr.' due to his age. He stood in front of his writing desk, short brown hair mussed and unwashed, round face red with wine, and one stubby finger pointed right at Warren. Standing at the threshold of the library, Roland could smell the copious amounts of wine that the master of the household must have either imbibed or spilled onto himself or his surroundings this day alone. Either way, it had begun to sour.

“What's all this?” Roland ran his fingers through his loose, inky hair as he stepped into the room fully, glancing between his employer and employee. Warren took in a deep, shaky breath, turning his frown towards the butler imploringly.

“It's young master Grahm. He wet the bed—”

“_Again_!” Mr. Johanson cut in, swinging the cup of wine he held in his right hand and sending a few drops glittering through the candle-lit air only to meet their end by soaking into the pre-stained rug. “This is the _third _time in a week!”

“He's _seven_!” Warren's voice raised a pitch or two in desperation, and his right hand clenched into a fist by his side. His will to keep his voice lowered was obvious to Roland, who cleared his throat.

“Why was I summoned for this? Wake Grace, have her clean—” The butler was silenced by his employer.

“I want that little brat to have his arse _thrashed_, right _now_! And if this pathetic excuse for a nanny—”

“Mr. Johanson, there's _no _reason to insult—” Roland tried, but his employer only waved his hand and continued. Warren only threw up his hands in exhaustion, turning his eyes upwards briefly as if looking for salvation.

“_And _if _he _won't do it then _you _will, Roland!”

“Excuse me?” Roland and Warren's disbelief echoed one another, as they spoke at the same time. Roland continued, “You want _me _to discipline young master Grahm?”

“Yes! Fetch your cane,” Mr. Johanson ignored the immediate protest that Warren tried to give, “Fetch it, and leave a lasting impression on the little ingrate! _Then _we'll see if he dares to wet the bed again!”

“_Mr. _Johanson,” Warren's voice was pure exasperation, a man at the end of his rope, “I have told you again and again, he's too young for the cane! And these things happen with children, it's not as if he's doing it to spite you!”

“Isn't he, though? He won't even look at me anymore! He hollars and shouts if I even enter the room!” Mr. Johanson bellowed.

“He's _frightened _of you.” Warren shot back in defense of the boy, both fists clenched now. “And who can blame him?” Both men opposite the nanny sucked in a swift breath at the blatant accusation. There was a rush of energy between the three men suddenly, as if a bubble had burst. The master of the house was red-faced, cheeks practically glowing with wine and sweat.

“How _dare _you! I'll give _you _a thrashing!” Mr. Johanson took a step towards the nanny, but Roland smoothly intercepted by sliding between them. Mr. Johanson nearly ran into the taller man's chest, barely avoiding stumbling as he came to a stop. Roland lifted his hands in a defensive manner towards his employer, patting the air.

“Now now, Sir, that won't be necessary.” Ice blue eyes stared down at the round man, as if challenging him to take one more step towards the nanny. Mr. Johanson shook his head, giving a wave of his hand as if it wasn't worth his time before lifting the cup to his lips for another drink. His mustache was already soaked with wine, and his lips glistened with it.

“Something really must be done about that boy's uppity tone.” Mr. Johanson grumbled, swirling the wine within his cup and starring down at it. “But first, my errant son. So, go on Roland, fetch the cane and,”

“He's not a dog.” Warren's quiet voice did not waver.

“_Sutton._” Roland sent a warning stare over his shoulder. Warren frowned, though lowered his gaze in deference. Looking back ahead, Roland cleared his throat once more. “With all due respect, Mr. Johanson, the discipline of the children falls to their nanny.”

“But he won't do it!” Their employer grunted. Warren gave a little sound of frustration, clicking his tongue.

“The cane is too severe for a child his age, and he wouldn't understand besides!” Warren explained, his voice breaking in the middle.

“A slipper, then? Or your hand?” Roland offered. Warren turned wide eyes towards the butler, as if he'd been completely betrayed. Roland felt a keen pain in his chest at the look, but it never touched his smooth expression.

“Sure, whatever.” Mr. Johanson turned his back, walking back towards his desk.

“Then it's settled.” Roland stated, but before he could even feel relieved, Warren spoke up.

“No, it is _not _settled! I know those children better than anyone, and I'm telling you Mr. Gladwell, it's not his fault! He's been having these terrible night-terrors...” Warren reached out to grasp the back of Roland's sleeve. Mr. Johanson snorted.

“Pah! Bad dreams.”

“He dreams you hurt his mother.” Warren's voice was sharp as a dagger, and Mr. Johanson choked on his wine. He buckled as he coughed, pounding his own chest with his grubby fist.

“Foul lies! I'll have you horsewhipped for your insolence!” Slamming the cup onto the desk, he turned and headed for the nanny again. Warren recoiled at the threat, knowing it wasn't an idle one, but he didn't back down. Nor did he release the back of Roland's sleeve. The butler again stood between the two men. The employer he had sworn to obey out for blood in front of him, and the man he loved at his back. “You step aside, Roland! He's gone too far this time! I won't stand for being slandered in my own household!”

“They are only dreams, Sir.” Roland spoke firmly, gaining the older man's attention for a moment. “Dreams are not facts, correct? The boy is confused. Perhaps tomorrow the boys should visit their mother across town, clear up any misconceptions that the boy might have about his mother's well being?” This seemed to give their employer pause, and he tapped his stubby fingers together.

“Yes... Perhaps...” Mr. Johanson shook his head. “But my son should still be disciplined. No more arguments.” He glared at Warren from where he stood half-behind the butler. “This is my final word! Now fetch. The. Cane.” He stared imploringly at Roland.

“_Please,_” Warren whispered quietly, squeezing Roland's sleeve a little tighter, standing on his toes to bring himself closer to the taller man's ear, “He saw the incident, and he's been having nightmares and wetting the bed. _Please _Roland, I'm b_egging _you. Don't spank the boy for his father's sins.”

“Stop nattering in his ear, boy! What are you waiting for?” Their employer shouted again, earning a deep frown from his butler and nanny both. Roland was torn. He'd _never _gone directly against his employers word before! But he trusted Warren's judgment, and there was no question of the nanny's love for the children, nor the fact that Warren had more experience with children than their master. Roland's fists clenched at his sides, and he shifted his gaze off to the side. After another moment of conflicted silence, Mr. Johanson growled, “I'll do it myself! And then I'll give this petulant nanny a few stripes, see if he still wants to run his mouth! Really, Roland, I couldn't be more disappointed with you. If _this_ is how you handle discipline within the house, perhaps Mr. Hatfield made a mistake.” Those words hit the young butler like a blow to the chest, and Roland nearly took a step back. Even Warren flinched, turning his worried gaze to the dark-haired man acting as his shield. Roland recovered quickly, clearing his throat as he reached up to adjust his glasses.

“That won't be necessary, Mr. Johanson. I will deal with the boy personally, _after _I've dealt with his nanny.” Roland spoke firmly, and without hesitation. His blue eyes were cold as the ice they so resembled, fixed on nothing but the portly man in front of him now. Warren released his sleeve, lifting his shoulders and crossing his arms, turning his gaze away in defeat.

“You will spank the boy?” Mr. Johanson prompted.

“I will not.” Roland stated, and he heard Warren sigh with relief from behind him.

“What?!” Mr. Johanson's shoulders lifted, ready for a fight again. Roland continued calmly.

“I will explain to young master Grahm that what he thinks happened is a falsehood, a fabricated memory. His mother is in good health, and is merely visiting his Grandmother. After he sees her tomorrow, I believe our little problem will solve its self. If it does not, the boy will be disciplined upon the next offense.” His tone was so strong, so final, that even the drunk and angry Mr. Johanson seemed to have trouble disputing it. He lifted his cup and fiddled with it for a moment.

“And the whelp behind you?”

“Him, I intend to soundly thrash.” Roland lifted one brow, and he didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that Warren would be wincing at the prospect.

“Very good then. Right.” Mr. Johanson nodded his head. “I knew you would see reason. You're a good man, Roland.” Their employer nodded, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “On with it, then.” He waved his hand in dismissal. Roland turned on his heel, grabbing a hold of Warren's upper arm in an iron grip and pulling him out of the library with him. Once the door was closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dark hallways, he rounded on the nanny, his voice nearly as hiss when he spoke.

“What on earth has gotten into you, Sutton? Arguing with Mr. Johanson like that is going to get you fired!”

“What was I supposed to do, spank an innocent child?” Warren asked, brows furrowed and expression set with a concern and anger.

“He would have lived, Sutton. A brief moment of pain, and all of this could have been dealt with.” Roland met the nanny's gaze with his own, though he was surprised by the resolve he saw staring back at him. Warren planted his feet and crossed his arms. He took a deep, slow breath, closing his eyes briefly. Opening them, he shook his head.

“No.”

“No?”

“I won't stand by and allow one of my boys to be hurt even for a _brief moment,_” he repeated the words bitterly, “Not when they haven't earned it. The master slapped Mrs. Johanson, you know. It's all Grahm can talk about.”

“I know. I was there.” Roland seemed unmoved, but Warren's eyes widened a little. “It happened before I could get between them.”

“Roland, that's _not _normal.” Warren uncrossed his arms, stepping towards Roland to place his hand on his chest. Roland didn't react to the touch, but he didn't shy away like he might have a year ago. “Why can't you see that this family isn't ordinary, and that your job description was never to break up a fight between a man and his wife!”

“Oh, and what am I to do, Warren? At my age, with a bad reference from a family like this?” Roland's voice lowered to a frustrated whisper, and he reached up to seize Warren's wrist. His grip was no longer iron, like the one that still had his arm throbbing from leaving the library, but it was firm. “What are _we _to do? Quit? You want to leave the children?”

“No, of course not!” Warren's whisper was just as harsh.

“Then stop dwelling on what is _normal _and just _behave_!” Roland snapped, and Warren swallowed. He lowered his gaze, shoulders shaking slightly, and Roland could feel his trembling in the wrist he held.

“So, you would do anything that man said, just to keep this job?” Warren swallowed. “Even hurt me?”

“You earned your punishment tonight.” Roland balked, and Warren's gaze lifted with a frown, his tone defensive.

“For my insolence to _you; _I have no regrets about how I _behaved _tonight towards that pig—” Warren was silenced by a set of long, but impossibly strong fingers which took his chin hostage. His wrist and face both captured, his entire demeanor seemed to shrink. Anger quickly melted into apprehension, knowing he'd said one word too many. Roland had his full attention now, and he didn't dare avert his gaze.

“Must you constantly _test _me, boy?” Roland's voice was low, and he guided the blond back until Warren felt his shoulders hit the wall. A gas lamp sputtered from down the hall, it's sphere of light barely reaching them where they were. Perhaps it was that faint light that made the butler's expression so heart-stoppingly threatening. Warren hoped so.

“I,” Warren's breath hitched as his attempt to speak was snuffed by a gentle squeeze added to an already firm grip on his jaw.

“You show me nothing but willful disobedience by insulting our employer right outside the very room that he currently resides in! Do you really believe that I would accept this sort of behavior, from anyone?” Roland demanded, and Warren felt his chest grow tight. He knew that his elder was correct, but he didn't want to admit it. Roland was religious about respecting the rules, and one of those rules was: Disrespecting your employers while on the premises by means of gossip or name-calling was a punishable offense. Most the staff thought that it was a silly rule, as what the family didn't know was said well, couldn't hurt anyone, right? But Roland said that it was bad for morale, and also just bad manners. Warren swallowed, _hard, _and tested his jaw. Roland released it just enough for him to speak.

“No, _Sir._” He whispered. That was it. In the brief breath of silence, Warren could feel his lover's body relaxing a little.

“That's what I thought.” He leaned in close, a silky raven lock of hair sliding to fall against Warren's chest as his lips neared the nanny's ear. Roland's voice was low, a rumble from his chest, and it stole the very breath from Warren's lungs as the blond curls around his ear danced with the humid rush of air that came with the words. “Where is your place, Warren? You seem to have forgotten it.”

“_Ah,_” A mere gasp passed Warren's lips first, as he struggled not to let his knees become water. His face was turned to the side, and his eyes closed, feeling teeth graze along his pale neck. Strawberry blond curls stuck to the side of it, damp with sweat, which the butler seemed to enjoy given the small sound he made. “_With you, Sir._”

“Yes? _Where_?” Teeth sank into soft skin, and Warren's breath hitched, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out in bliss and pain. The cold shock of pain, blinding for a brief moment, only slowly fade into a throb when followed by the warm, damp sweep of Roland's tongue over the indentations left behind. Warren was panting quietly through his nose, and trembling again. He released his lower lip, tasting copper, to suck in a swift breath,

“_Over your_—”

“M-Mr. Gladwell?” An uncertain female voice reached their ears, and both men sprung apart. Warren only kept his footing because he used the wall for support, one arm resting against it. “Oh! Warren!” Grace stood illuminated by the light of the lamp above her, casting shadows over her slight, nightgown draped body in all the right places. Roland's shoulders tensed when he heard her use the nanny's first name. It was customary in the household to use last names, among servants, to keep relationships from forming. The only exception was when two staff had the same name, in which case one could choose to go by their first. There was certainly no other Warren. Grace's brows furrowed and she seemed to pout, stepping closer to the strangely out of breath men, hands clasped under her ample chest. “A-are one of you ill? Is everything alright? I heard the young masters crying and went to check—”

“Everything is fine.” Roland's collected voice spoke up. You would never guess that it came from the same man of moments before. “Grace, see about changing young master Grahm's sheets. _Sutton,_” The stress on the name wasn't lost on either Grace nor Warren, and their heads lowered. Only Grace smiled. “You will soothe the boy, and inform him of tomorrow's visit.” He was walking before he had even finished speaking, and Grace quickly stepped aside to avoid being trampled. Just as he passed her, Roland paused, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “And then you will report to my study.” Everyone present knew that could only mean one thing; discipline. Warren straightened his shoulders as much as he could muster, knowing it was coming, but Grace was quicker.

“What, _now_? Mr. Gladwell, it's past midnight!”

“I _can _tell time, Grace.” Roland replied calmly, and Warren's face grew hot.

“I'll be there in ten, of course, Mr. Gladwell.” The nanny stated as firmly as he could, stepping out of the shadows edge and into the light with the two. Grace's eyes widened.

“Warren, is your lip bleeding? Is that a _bruise _on your—?” Grace went to glance over her shoulder towards the butler, but thought better of it, looking past them towards the door to the library instead. “Not the master, surely?”

“That's enough, Grace!” It was Warren that scolded, sending a disapproving frown towards the maid, while licking his bitten lip and casually rubbing the side of his neck to keep it from sight. She'd already seen the wrist, the less the better. “I know you're well aware of the rules. Surely you don't wish to join me in Mr. Gladwell's study?” Even he had to snort at the irony of it. Scolding her for one of the very reasons that he found himself in hot water for. But it worked to silence her protests, as the looming presence of the household's strict butler still towered just over her shoulder, back to hers. Roland gave Warren a single nod, gaze straightening as he swiftly strode away. Grace shuddered, rubbing at her own arms.

“He's terrifying!”

“You don't know the half of it.” Warren replied with a grin, which only served to confuse the maid. She shook her head as she took a hold of Warren's arm, and he fought not to wince as she accidentally found _another _bruise.

“What's the matter with you, Warren? Smiling when you're about to have your bum royally smacked by that bully of a butler!” She whispered, leading him back towards the children's rooms. Warren was glad for the general lack of light that would keep his crimson cheeks from being too noticeable. Usually he was very good at keeping his feelings about impending punishments well under wraps, but for some reason, he was really _looking forward _to this one. It wasn't that he didn't fear the pain, or worse, _wanted _it! Honestly he could do without it so long as the same effect could be reached. His history said that it couldn't, at least not easily, and so he was willing to take whatever was deemed necessary. And Lord help him, he was at once both giddy and terrified. He shook his head a little.

“Never you mind it. Mr. Gladwell isn't a bully, like you say. He helped the young master Grahm tonight, and he did it by going against his morals.” Even as he said it, his words grew heavy with guilt. “I was nothing but ungrateful to him, and I look forward to making it up to him.” Warren finished, reaching the room and setting his hand onto the door handle to open it. Grace sighed as he did, shaking her head, but she was smiling at least.

“You're a strange man, Warren. I've never heard anyone talk like that before.” In the light of the room, he could see how pink that her cheeks had become. He didn't even want to try and imagine what she might be thinking at that moment, so he laughed as he entered the room.

“I'm a man of twenty-two, who's a _nanny _because it works out better for his employers not to hire someone else and fire me_. _Of course I'm going to be a little strange.” He quipped, before opening his arms and approaching a sniffling, sleepy Grahm. He scooped the boy up and placed him on his hip, using his hand to wipe the boy's tears. Grace seemed to relent with a giggle, moving to gather up the soiled sheets.

=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=

Roland paced within his study, wringing one of his pristine white gloves between his hands. The hard soles of his shoes clacked softly on the wooden floors as he walked, almost echoing off of the mostly empty walls of the attic room. The study was nice to have, a space of his own to work or entertain if he so chose to, and connected to his bedroom. It also gave him a place away from prying eyes to conduct discipline, as he wasn't a fan of public displays for multiple reasons. Which was precisely why his own actions just moments earlier troubled him so.

It wasn't unusual for him to defend the staff, per se, but to not only directly disobey his employer  _multiple _ times, he even went against his  _own _ initial judgment,  _all _ for Warren. Nearing his writing desk, he threw the glove onto it, knocking over a quill stand. Opening it with an abrupt motion, he retrieved the cane. As his bare fingertips traced the cool, solid length of wood, he imagined utilizing it. The sharp swish it made as it flew through the air, and the satisfying  _crack _ it gave when it struck an errant bottom. 

Roland gripped the tip when he came to it, bending the cane until it gave a creak of protest. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, where he could still taste Warren's sweat. He could well recall the quickness of the nanny's pulse where Roland had held his wrist captive. His head swam with conflicting emotions, and the cane dropped to the desk with a clatter, followed by the thump of both palms onto the surface. Leaning forward, his hair fell to shadow his sight, but his eyes were tightly closed anyway.

Warren had made him feel many,  _many _ new things before. But this type of confusion wasn't something that the butler cherished nor wanted. Roland was only worth what he could accomplish, Warren knew that! Ever since they truly began their little affair, whatever it was, it was made clear by Roland that it wasn't ever,  _ever _ to effect their professional life. Fingers curled, crumpling papers. So why would Warren humiliate Roland like that? Speaking so flippantly with their employer, insulting the man who held the guillotine over Roland's life. Mr. Johanson had  _never _ liked him, no matter  _how _ tight a ship he was taught to run, and did so almost effortlessly. It looked as if Roland had  _no _ control! Sure, the butler had handled the situation as he always did, by making the master of the household feel that a completely different idea was his own, and a better choice. Hurrah Mr. Johanson, noble choice! You're  _so _ wise.

Opening his eyes, Roland stood up and swept his hair back behind his ears once again. He removed his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. What in the world had possessed him to nearly accost Warren like that in the  _hallway_ ? He couldn't explain it. He didn't know if he'd ever felt quite like that before. The boy could drive him mad, surely, but not  _mad _ mad! This had nothing to do with lust. He didn't want to have  _sex _ with Warren, that wouldn't fix the way that he was feeling right now. He'd never  _bitten _ anyone like that before. It wasn't even what he'd wanted to do, or rather what he'd intended, but Warren's hesitance to submit had spurred the butler to behave... out of character for himself.

The boy had  _always _ tested him. From the very first time he brought the birch down on those two pale perfect cheeks, just  _begging _ to be marked, Warren had put the butler through the wringer. Messing up or forgetting chores on purpose, talking back, being tardy, Warren had no end to the ways that he could end up bent over a desk or across the butler's lap for a sound spanking. Over time, Roland had caught on enough to admonish the boy for such negative attention seeking behavior, but he had been genuinely surprised when Warren  _still _ asked for discipline. Not from just anyone, however, but from  _him. _ Warren openly defied most authority that he didn't agree with, to Roland's chagrin, but  _never _ Roland. Never like tonight.

Roland had  _always _ hated being on the receiving end of discipline. Weak men  _forced _ others to obey, strong men  _encouraged _ them to behave. The previous butler, Mr. Hatfield, had taught Roland this many years ago. And once Roland had come to understand those words, after his fair share of lessons under his elder's cane, there simply hadn't been the need for any further encouragement. By the time the man passed unexpectedly, Roland hadn't needed correction for  _years. _ What did that say for how much Warren respected Roland? He sighed presently, replacing his glasses and pulling the tie from around his wrist. Gathering up his hair, he tied it at the nape of his neck. Not quite as polished as usual, as he'd been sleeping previously, but it would keep it out of his way. The knock on the door chased his thoughts away like moths from a wardrobe, and he turned to face it, leaning with one hand on the desk. With his other hand he lifted the pocket watch from the desk, clicking it open and keeping his eyes on the painted dial, and how the lamp's light danced across it.

“Enter.” He called, and the door handle gave a metallic squeak as it was turned. The hinges squealed as the door opened, and Warren stepped out of the dark hall and into the room, eyes hidden by his curls, as his gaze was downcast. His left hand was curled into the hem of his linen night shirt, and he stepped in to close the door behind him without turning. Warren folded his hands behind his back, waiting. Roland didn't lift his gaze, instead watching the second hand move, tick by tok. Not thirty seconds had passed before the tension in the room was thick enough to prick at both men's every exposed bit of skin. By a minute, he knew Warren shifting his weight from one side to the other nervously. “You were early.” Roland's voice caused Warren to jump slightly, and his head shot up.

“Yes, Sir, I thought it better than the alternative.” The nanny stated, his eyes now watching his lover curiously. He knew that Roland would be very upset, expected it even. He also knew that the butler was fond of rituals and time conscious, but _still. _Something was different, and it was causing a knot of nausea to form in the pit of Warren's stomach. One arched brow raised, and Roland's eyes were on him. They pinned him like a needle pins a butterfly to the board, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “B-being late, I meant being late. I mean I'm sorry. Sir.”

“Silence.” Roland's order brought Warren's jaw snapping audibly shut. The nanny furrowed his brow in distress, feeling he'd already started on the wrong foot. The last thing in the entire world that he wanted to do right now was to stoke the butler's already seething anger. Damn his smart mouth! Roland pushed up from the desk, clicking the watch close and dropping it to the surface. He approached the small round table in the middle of the room, coming to stand in front of it. Sitting back onto it, Roland's feet slid shoulder width apart, knees bent slightly, table creaking under his weight but holding firm. He crossed his arms, sleeves already rolled up to show off his forearms, ready for use. “_Strip._”

The order made Warren's heart skip a beat. His cheeks burned as his hands moved to obey, lifting his shirt off and over his head. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to fold it, but one brief glance up to his lover's expression told him that there was no time. He allowed it to flutter to the floor beside him, stepping out of his slippers one at a time. Swallowing as his hands came to rest on the tie keeping his pants up, he could feel his hands shaking, and he was keenly aware that Roland was watching every second. His lover  _hated _ dallying, wasting time. Gathering his courage to obey the somewhat unusual order, discipline didn't usually mean being fully nude, Warren pulled the string and allowed his pants to slip to the floor. The cool air rushed up to chill the heated skin of the younger man's flushed and exposed body, and Warren resisted the urge to allow tears to well up, blinking them away.

“Come.” Roland's low voice ordered, and Warren felt a powerful tug right in his gut, feet moving before he knew it, as if drawn to the intimidating man by some magnetic force. Roland parted his lips to speak again, but his words failed him when Warren sank down to his knees with a _thump, _just before his feet. His shoulders stiffened when he felt the boy's hands curling into his pants below the knees, but he didn't react when Warren leaned forward to rest his forehead against Roland's inner thigh.

“I'm sorry!” Warren's voice was wavering, shoulders hunched. “I'm _really _sorry, I know I _really _messed up, Rola—_ow_!” The nanny yelped as his head was yanked back by use of his hair, firmly wrapped into Roland's long fingers and tight against the back of his scalp.

“Did I say you could touch me?” It wasn't anger that dripped from that velvet tone. It wasn't just a simple reminder, given calmly either. It was another ritual broken. Warren's green eyes widened, hands withdrawing as if burned, hovering in the air as if he'd forgotten what to do with them entirely. His lips parted for an apology, an explanation, a plea. Roland was quicker. “And what did you call me?” That got the nanny's attention.

“Wh-what? Ro...” Understanding came over him. Heat rushed over every inch of Warren's exposed skin, chasing away the chill of the drafty room. If he couldn't address Roland by his first name, as only those on a more intimate basis are known to, then he was being reminded of their imbalance. He only prayed he was right as he forced his mouth to comply with his heart. Closing his eyes for a slow breath or two, he felt a tear slip free when he opened them. Roland's expression was calm, patient. “I'm sorry, _Sir,_ for...” Warren's mind raced, his heart pounding in his own ears and beating like a bird trying to escape his chest. “Forgetting my place.” Roland released his grip on Warren's hair, moving to cup his cheek instead, wiping the tear that had fallen with his thumb.

“Good boy.” Roland's praise brought a tidal wave of relief, and Warren's head felt light with it. He'd gotten it right? He wasn't the only one surprised with his answer, however, nor was he the only one feeling dizzy with relief. Roland allowed the boy to press his face into his palm, enraptured by the change that seemed to come over the witty, stubborn boy on his knees before him. He knew that Warren was a well desired young man among the female staff, the village girls, you name it. A pang of pain in his chest reminded Roland of where he was, and what he was doing. Clearing his throat, he moved his hand so that three fingers came to rest under Warren's chin, keeping his head tilted back. “Why did she call you by name?” He asked. Warren's brows both lifted, but he hurried to reply the second that he saw a flicker of disapproval at his reaction crossing his elder's face.

“It's just my name! I-I don't know,”

“You do know.” Roland's tone was warning, and Warren fought the urge to panic. Things has just been going so well! Warren's hands folded on his knees, and his voice was full of guilt when he spoke again.

“She fancies me. She told me, and I didn't know what to say. I didn't... Maybe I wasn't clear... with her, and ever since,”

“You're well aware that relationships between staff are not allowed.” Roland's voice was tense, verging on anger suddenly. Warren looked bewildered, and then he lifted one brow.

“Risking... your ire, Sir, what would you have me tell her? That I cannot enter a relationship with her because my _real_ master_, _none other than our dear butler, _owns me,_ body and soul?” Warren' voice had nearly faded into a whisper by the time he was finished speaking, heart in his throat. Roland's expression was unreadable for a tortuous few beats of his heart. As for the older man, the overwhelming swell within his chest was making it rather hard to do what he knew needed to be done.

“Do I?” Roland challenged.

“From the first time you took me over your lap.” Warren professed. “I-I'm just... really stupid sometimes. And hard headed, impulsive,” green eyes glanced imploringly upwards, “But you never gave up on me, besides that! You took me to task again and again, even when I frustrated you nearly to tears! Even when...” His throat felt tight, and he finally dropped his gaze. After a moment of silence, Warren clearly struggling for words, Roland prompted him.

“Why are you here tonight, boy?” Roland's fingers took hold of Warren's hair once more so that he couldn't hide by turning his face away.

“_I don't have the words._” He choked, a few more tears slipping free.

“You'd better try, boy, because you're going to get the spanking of your life tonight either way. The only thing your words will decide is where you end up when it's over.” Roland warned, and Warren's distress only doubled. He stuttered a little, searching for mercy in his lover's face... and finding none.

“I forgot my place. I disrespected you in front of _that_ man. I... was careless, and allowed... someone to believe that they might be closer to me than they are. I...” Warren lifted his hands, closing his eyes briefly and counting on his fingers. Opening his eyes again, he blinked through tears. “I broke a house rule, and insulted my employer on the premises.” Even now, it took everything within the nanny not to add 'no matter how deserved the insult'.

“Why are you here tonight?” Roland repeated, and panic crossed Warren's expression. He'd gotten it wrong? It actually hurt Roland to see that kind of expression on his lover's face, wanting nothing more than to reassure him. But this feeling in his chest just wouldn't _go away_. Roland was convinced that it just wasn't _right _yet, even though he hadn't the foggiest idea what right even looked or felt like. “Take your time.” His tone allowed some of that panic to fade from Warren's expression, but he was clearly still weighed down by the gravity of the situation.

“M...May I touch you?” Warren asked hesitantly. Roland released the blond locks, resting his hands on either side of his hip on the table.

“You may.” Roland allowed, and Warren's fingertips came to rest on top of the toes of Roland's slippers. Warren's forehead pressed back into Roland's inner thigh, shoulders hunched up high, careless of how his tears soaked into the older man's pants.

“I'm here because I _need _to be here... with you... at your feet, over your lap, whatever I deserve! I _failed _you today.” He sniffed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Fingertips slid up along Roland's slippers, until they touched the skin at the top of his foot. “_Please, please don't make me go._” Another sob, “Do what you will with me, what we know that I deserve. I _need_ your lap, I need your... _direction. _Your _corrections_.” He sniffed again, convinced that he was getting nowhere. How could his words possibly make any sense? Who the hell _wanted _to be disciplined? But above him, Roland was watching him curiously.

Roland had known from the beginning that Warren desired him sexually. The boy was never really shy about it, not since the day that he'd confessed and Roland hadn't immediately rebuffed him. But their primary contact remained in two places; work and discipline. Discipline gave them a non-suspicious reason to be alone. And Roland, ever the stickler for rituals, almost  _never _ mixed discipline with pleasure. Roland never felt more at peace than in the moments after spanking Warren. He knew that each stroke he gave was not only earned, but accepted willingly, and by someone who did their very best not to end up there for the same infraction more than once. “That's better.” Roland encouraged,  _finally _ feeling a bit of relief from the anger and confusion that had been smothering him. Warren  _needed _ his discipline. He didn't just want Roland's body, and was  _putting up_ with the discipline. Roland wouldn't deny that he'd suspected such a thing for a while now, but they had never put it into words before. “Honesty, boy. What side of you could I possibly turn away? Continue.” Encouraged, Warren licked his lips swiftly, lifting his right hand to wipe at his eyes, looking up.

“I...” His fingers tightened their grip in the butler's pants, and Warren felt a chill race down his spine. His voice lowered, nearly a whisper. “I... need to be put back in my place. I need to be... I need _you _t-to...” Warren's mind went back to the first time he'd found his place. Turning his gaze upwards through half-lidded eyes and blond curls, he murmured. “Good boys know when to hold their tongue. I'm a bad boy, Sir, and I need everything... _you_ need to give me.” It was an accusation, a risky one. Roland's shoulders went up the moment that it was said, and Warren almost wished he'd kept his big stupid mouth shut for once in his life. Warren held his breath for several dizzying moments, but when no flat denial came from his lover, he allowed himself to break. “_Please, _make me _good._”

Roland's thoughts were spinning. He couldn't ever recall being so pleased... No,  _satisfied _ by Warren's submission before. The boy was foolishly loyal at times, honest to a fault at others, but above all the page boy turned nanny was largely  _self sufficient. _ Warren didn't  _need _ anyone's help, the way that Roland didn't  _need _ anyone's help to run this entire household. He'd watched the younger man hold his ground against even the most meddling of “well meaning” female staff who thought to correct the way that he was raising the boys. That confident and self assured young man was on his knees before him now, in tears, and confessing his deepest and darkest secrets. Begging for discipline, pleading to be made right.

It was  _intoxicating._

“Doesn't that frighten you?” Roland asked evenly, his voice vibrating with emotion. Warren blinked away tears, shaking his head a little.

“Which part, exactly? It's all pretty t-terrifying if I am still being honest.” He added quietly, turning his eyes away. Roland gave a grunt of half amusement, but he wasn't about to be distracted.

“The part where I need to hurt you to feel better. If we are still being honest.” Roland narrowly echoed his lover and servant's words. Warren looked up, brows slightly furrowed. He reached up, touching Roland's right wrist, which the butler allowed him to lift. Pressing a kiss to the calloused palm of Roland's hand, Warren smiled wide, green eyes half-hooded by heavy eyelids as he looked up.

“If you didn't need to 'hurt me' to teach me, then _my_ need to feel pain in order to learn would be too much to ask for... wouldn't it?” Warren asked. “I _need _to make this up to you, Ro-er, Sir.” He swallowed, voice tight. “What I _think _I'm trying desperately to say is that... We are both perfectly qualified for one another, no matter how abnormal that anyone might say we are, that I don't know what I would do if you weren't just the way you are.” Warren's full lower lip trembled, overcome with his own shameful desperation. Before he could lower his eyes, he found Roland's other hand joining the first, cupping the nanny's cheeks and lifting his face.

“I will make you regret those words.” Roland warned, but his voice was hot with emotion. It was more a promise than a threat. Warren couldn't hide the full body shudder that it sent throughout his body, shifting on sore knees and suddenly feeling the chill of the air on his very exposed skin very keenly. He swallowed, licked his lips, hesitated... Roland lifted one finely arched raven brow, and that was all it took.

“Y...You can try.” Warren's voice was hardly a whisper. The hands pulled away from his face and he flinched, but no correcting smack landed on his cheeky face. Instead, a sharp order was barked out.

“Up!” Roland snapped his fingers, and Warren's body moved as if an invisible string jerked him up by the gut. His knees popped as he quickly stood, head spinning, and he might have toppled over completely if not for the warm, iron grip which came to steady his right shoulder. “Where is your place, boy?” Roland's voice was low and even, the epitome of barely withheld strength. Warren licked his lips slowly, half-closing his eyes as he felt heat rush to color his face and reaching to the tips of his ears.

“Over your lap, Sir.” He answered with resolution. The nanny frowned and stepped back as Roland stood from the table, keeping the blond at arms length by use of the grip on his shoulder. When he removed his hand, Warren's skin tingled from the contact. Roland stepped to the side, pointing to the spot on the table that he had just vacated and giving another snap of his fingers. Only then did Warren hesitate, glancing to Roland curiously even as his body moved to comply. He stepped up to the table, placing his hands onto the surface that was still warm from the heat of Roland's body.

“Oh, you _would _think it that easy, wouldn't you.” Roland gave a snort, stepping forward to place one hand on the back of Warren's neck. He pushed firmly but gently, guiding Warren to bend all the way over the table until he was resting on his elbows. “You might _think_ you know your place, my honey-tongued little libertine,” Long fingers slid up into the back of Warren's strawberry blond curls, but they didn't grab, merely played with the errant locks, “But I don't yet believe that you truly know what it is that you're begging me for. I don't think you _understand _the gravity of your unique, and precarious situation.”

“Then _show _me.” Warren goaded, head held down or not. Roland gave a short sigh, and his hand slid back down to rest at the back of the younger man's slender neck. A light grip of his fingers, and he could feel the blond's pulse racing.

“You make it sound as if I mean to give you a challenge of some sort; a test. I'm not going to do anything of the sort, you arrogant brat.” _Smack_! The sound resounded off the mostly empty walls of the butler's study, that of Roland's palm landed firmly one cheek of Warren's supple, and very vulnerable bottom. Warren hissed, hips pressing forward on instinct to escape the sting, until they met the cool, rounded edge of the wooden table. He gasped as Roland's clothed hips pressed against his bare bottom, the material of his slacks rough on the freshly slapped hand print that had been left behind on one cheek. The butler leaned over the back of the smaller man easily, enveloping and pinning him to the table. Roland's lips brushed his ear as he spoke, humid breath tickling the younger man's ear, “_I'm going to give you exactly what you deserve. No more, no less. After that, we will see if you have _earned_ your place over my lap_.” And just like that, Roland's body retreated, all but for the hand on the back of Warren's neck. That hand pressed instead, forcing Warren's cheek to touch the cool surface of the table.

“Yes, Sir.” Warren's lips parted, taking in a shuddering breath of anticipation, dread settling in his belly like lead. He shifted nervously on the balls of his feet, one heel and then the other leaving the floor.

“Hips up, bottom out!” Roland ordered, and now his tone held a more familiar cool and collected dominance that left no room for resistance. Warren's hips came away from the table's edge as his heels nearly left the floor together this time, arching his back so that he was following his lover's orders to the best of his ability. “Now see, if only you could always follow my orders so quick and efficiently, you would end up here a lot less.” He patted Warren's bottom with a heavy hand, causing the younger man to give a small gasp and jump, clearly nervous and caught off guard. It kept the nanny from firing back with any of his self-sabotaging wit, at least, for now. Warren gave a swift nod of his head, flushed cheeks damp with tears and a light dew of sweat, red as the hand print on his ass. _Smack_! His untouched cheek received a powerful swat, which sent Warren rocking forward ever so slightly with it before he caught himself, holding position. “I didn't hear you.”

“Y-yes, Sir!”

“Tell me again why you are here.” Roland leaned forward again, placing his hand next to Warren's on the table, his thumb and index finger laying hot over Warren's pinkie and ring fingers. They almost felt chilled from the lack of protection from the room's cool, damp air. Or perhaps Roland was just feeling particularly feverish. Warren sucked in a swift breath, and he didn't need to glance over his shoulder to see that Roland would be pulling his hand all the way back, and that he was using the table for leverage.

“I disre--” _Smack_! “_\--spected you_!” Up onto the balls of his feet he went, breath catching in his throat as the immediate after throb of pain that followed the swat felt almost as if another had already been laid on top of it. “I disrespected my employer,” _Smack, smack, _one to each cheek just as hard as the last, “_W-while on the premises_!” Warren panted, hands curling into fists against the tabletop. _Smack, smack, smack, smack, _the next four layered over the others until there was no longer any discernible prints, but instead a lovely warm pink glow to those ample cheeks. Warren's legs began to shake despite his best efforts, and his breath grew shallow and swift as he fought to maintain control over his reactions. He had forgotten that he was supposed to be speaking entirely for a moment, and his voice came out in a desperate rush when he remembered, “_I allowed,_” _Smack, smack_! “_Myself to be called by first name,_” _Smack-smack_! “_Ow-ow-ow, aah, I-I'll fix it_!”

“Oh yes, you will.” Roland paused in his merciless onslaught, leaving Warren whimpering in relief as he shifted as subtly as he could from foot to foot without breaking posture completely. His lower back was already beginning to grow tight and sore, and his ass was already on fire. It took every bit of trust he had in Roland not to break right then and there, his mind and body at odds with whether he could take whatever punishment he had yet to come. He knew they had surely just begun! “Is that all?” The butler pressed, but he was met with only the sound of Warren's heavy breaths. _Smack_!

“I-I don't know!” Warren nearly shouted, followed by a dry sob. “I'm sorry Sir, I _honestly _can't think straight any longer...” He flinched in anticipation. That answer couldn't be satisfactory in any way! However, Roland's hand returned to rub one sore cheek instead of striking it. Warren groaned at the conflicting sensations of pain and relief, pressing back into Roland's hand greedily. This attention was much more preferable to before, yes.

“That's alright, boy.” Roland seemed to soothe, his fingers even rubbing at Warren's where they overlapped. “That's alright, because _I _can. I remember everything that I am spanking you for in perfect detail, _and _I clearly recall the regiment for punishment that I have chosen in response. Does that comfort you?”

“Yes, Sir.” Warren didn't hesitate, nodding his head as best as he could.

“Why?”

“Because... I'll have a clean slate again. Better to... get it over with at once.” Warren's voice grew quiet, hardly above a whisper. “I just want to feel _good enough _for you again... Sir.” That only received a quiet grunt in response from the older man, who removed his soothing hand.

“Then keep form.” No sooner than he'd finished speaking, Roland delivered a dozen rapid fire swats to Warren's already glowing backside. The blond held his breath for half of them, but no sooner than an involuntary grunt was forced from his throat due to a blow to a sit spot, all bets were off. Warren closed his eyes and gave a few short cries of pain, mostly whimpers, which quickly dissolved into quiet sobs as the swats numbered twenty. They ended just as quickly as they had begun, and Warren's shaking legs almost gave out entirely. He didn't know why it seemed like his tolerance was so low this night in particular, but everything just seemed to _hurt _more. Roland did not rub away the sting this time. Instead he stood and made his way over to his desk, picking up the cane. Warren gave a cry of shock from across the room, raising back up to his elbows. Roland raised one ebony brow as he approached the younger man, tapping the cane in his open palm. “I thought you wanted a clean slate?”

“I-I _do, _but...!”

“The only butt I see is the one I thought I told to stay in position.” Roland remarked as he came to stand behind the now very anxious young man bent over his table. Warren froze for a second, even holding his breath, realizing that his hips had lowered until they touched the edge of the table, and his knees were bent. He was also up on his elbows instead of where Roland has put him with his face against the table. Warren moved swiftly in the next moment, lowering his face and lifting his hips, not bothering to try and hide that he had begun to tremble, nor that he had already begun to cry. He _hated _the cane, more than any other implement, and of course Roland knew that. On an already cherry red bottom, it was going to be nothing short of torture.

“_M'sorrySir_.”

“What was that, boy?” Roland asked, watching as Warren's right heel bobbed up and down uncontrollably. Warren attempted to clear his throat, giving a cough, and swallowing hard.

“_Hmmm, _I said I'm sorry, Sir!” Warren said quickly. “H-How many Sir?”

“Twelve.”

“I can't hold for that, Sir!” Warren protested, knees buckling. He could barely hold for _seven_!

“You _will _hold for that. Because if you do not, whichever strike that you break position on, you will receive the remainder of the set to the backs of your thighs.” Roland's proclamation stunned Warren into silence for a moment. His thighs? There was something _different _about including the thighs, which Roland had never done intentionally in discipline before. Roland would usually simply wait for Warren to recover enough to get back into position, and he would receive the rest as usual, to his bottom. Warren didn't think he liked this new development much, but he also very much doubted that mattered at the moment. “Do you understand me, boy?”

“_Hmmm,_” Warren's earlier bravado had flown the coop it seemed, as the only response that he'd been able to immediately form was a whine. _Swish_! The nanny flinched as the cane cut through the air with a sharp sound, but nothing struck him. He got the point, parting trembling lips to speak. “_Please, please Sir,_” _Swish, _another flinch and a gasp, but again nothing connected.

“That was your last warning, Warren Sutton. This is not up for debate. You can get dressed and walk out that door right now, as your first spanking took care of everything not personal.” Roland pointed the tip of the cane towards the door, “Or, you can straighten your legs, and push out your bottom for me to show me right where you want these licks to go.” It wasn't much of a choice. For Warren, it wasn't one at all. He took in a deep breath, straightened his quivering legs, arched his aching back, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists. “That's my good boy.” Roland's praise didn't provide much comfort under these circumstances, but it did help Warren steel himself in order to impress his lover and the master of his heart and body. “You understand what I'm about to do?”

“Yes, Sir.” Warren's voice only shook a little.

“Do you understand the consequences for failing to hold position?” Roland tapped the cool, thin surface of the cane against Warren's red bottom, just firm enough to leave brief white lines.

“_Hsss, yes, Sir_!” Warren hissed, attempting to carefully control his breathing. “D-do I have to count?”

“Usually, that would be the case. But under these circumstances, I'm going to make an exception. I will count every successful strike that you hold position for, after it is given.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Counting was so annoying anyway, as it distracted you from just _enduring_ the punishment until it was over. The cane ceased to tap on Warren's pre-warmed cheeks, but it wasn't exactly any comfort.

“Do you know _why _I'm spanking you?” Roland's voice lost it's edge briefly, or perhaps it just seemed that way to Warren. As for the younger man, he nodded.

“Because... I need this. I-I _need_ you to challenge me... to hold me accountable...” Warren wet his lips with a swift flick of his tongue, glancing back over his shoulder at Roland. He curled his toes into the wood floor, meeting the butler's icy blue eyes with his own damp green, eyelashes wet with tears, full lower lip being bitten, and face flushed to a point that it was almost vulgar to observe the naked young man in such a state as this. “You're so attentive to _me, _that sometimes I tend to forget, you...” At the hesitance, Roland spoke up, his voice once again full of familiar confidence.

“_I _need this. I _do_ need you to come to me, Warren. But this...”

“This is for you.” Warren straightened his feet, lifting his hips again, and turned his head forward. “For you, Sir. That is why I am being caned.” He swallowed hard, nerves getting the better of him again.

“Good boy.” _Swish, crack_! The first lash struck straight across the middle of Warren's bottom, leaving behind a stark white line which swiftly deepened into a pink, before it began to puff into a welt. Warren's body gave an involuntary jerk, going rigid as not to break position, a low whine escaping his throat as fresh tears left hot streaks over his flushed cheeks and soaked into the table. “One.” Roland said calmly.

_Swish, snap_ ! The second landed a centimeter below the first, resulting in a little hop of pain, as it didn't count as breaking position. “ _Ow, owww,_ ” Warren whimpered miserably. Despite his best efforts, he was counting in his head.

“Two.” Roland stated, drawing his arm back once more. _Swish, snap_! Right above the first two, the third strike of the cane cut through him like a hot knife, though in reality it didn't even break the skin. Roland had a _wicked _talent for canes. “Three.” _Swish, crack_!

“_Ouch, Ffff!_” Warren bit down hard on his lower lip in order to stifle the curse that wanted to slip out. The fourth had landed on the sensitive underside of his bottom, an already tender area made extra sensitive by the full force hand spanking just moments earlier.

“Four.” There wasn't more than a few seconds pause between the strikes, as if Roland was deliberately pushing him! _Swish, CRACK_!

“_I can't_!” Warren cried, heedless of who might hear him at this hour. He pressed his knees together so that they didn't immediately give in, the fifth welt crossing two of the others. His kneed quaked, his chest raised and fell with rapid and shallow breaths, and his palms were pressed flat to the table. His breath had even fogged the surface of it a little.

“Five; do you really want seven more on your thighs?”

“_No Sir, No Sir, please—_” _Swish, snap_! “_Aah! Hnnnmmh,_” Warren was trembling like a leaf, and it seemed he was unable to stay still, squirming in place as much as he dared without risking Roland's ire.

“Six. We're halfway there, boy.” Roland's words only drew out a sound of distress from Warren, who couldn't _possibly _imagine _six more_! All the first six had formed lovely welts, rippling the surface of his red bottom. Roland wasn't giving any mercy at all, Warren could feel it.

“_I can't._” He mumbled.

“Well, you're aware of the consequences.” With that, Roland drew back his arm once more. _Swish,_

“_W-wai, just wait_!” _CRACK_! The cane struck under his bottom once more, _almost _onto the thighs, and Warren's voice broke when he cried out in pain, and indigence that he hadn't been given a moment to collect himself. Warren rocked forward, and once his hips touched the cool edge of the table he knew he was out of position. “_Bollocks_!” His knees bent, as if he could curl up and hide from what he knew would be coming.

“_Tsk, _that _was _seven. I have to admit, I'm disappointed. I thought you had better resolve.” Roland brought the tip of the cane to tap Warren's bottom. “Up!”

“I-I needed... a moment!” Warren panted even as he lifted his hips as ordered, his heart in his throat. “Y-you _knew _I couldn't take all twelve!” It was defensive, and Roland actually gave a hint of a smile, though he leveled the cane—high on the back of Warren's thighs, which made the nanny flinch.

“I overestimated you?” Roland challenged. Warren held his breath for a moment, shocked into silence. Shocked, mostly, because Roland's words somehow ignited in him something unexpected. Something familiar, and comfortable for the younger man.

“No, Sir!”

“Then stop prattling and present yourself.” Roland ordered. Warren took in a deep breath, straightened his legs, and closed his eyes tightly. Roland swore he heard a tiny curse given under Warren's breath, but he allowed it under the circumstances. “Don't forget to breathe.” He waited, patiently, until he could see Warren's back rising and falling at an acceptable rate as not to make himself light headed for the next strikes. _Swish, crack_! The first strike landed true, just below the strike which had almost reached the thighs.

“_Hah_!” Warren gasped, his muscles locking up by sheer will alone. He kept his eyes closed, but he allowed himself to breathe out in a shuddering gust, steeling his body and mind for the next strike.

“Eight, good boy.” Roland praised, lifting his arm once again. It didn't go unnoticed, and Warren already felt a little stirring of pride welling up in his chest. _Swish, crack_! The ninth lash nearly overlapped the eight, resting just below it, and earning an involuntary jerk of Warren's right leg. Pride was overwhelmed by cold reality and stark pain, and a low whimper escaped from the back of Warren's throat. His lips parted so that he could continue to breathe, which he did so in shuddering, but deep breaths. There was a pause of only a few seconds, but it was a welcome mercy to the trembling nanny. “Nine, _very _good.” Again, the praise seemed to steel the boy. _Swish, snap_! The cane struck across the middle of the back of Warren's thighs.

“_Ow, ha, ow,_” Warren gasped between breaths, turning his head to press his forehead into the table's surface. His blond curls mostly obscured his flushed face, but the red tips of his ears could be seen. His toes were curled into the wood even though he was practically standing on them, heels off the floor, in an effort not to allow his knees to give in.

“Ten, easy now.” Roland stepped forward, switching the cane to his left hand so that he could reach out and rest his palm on one of Warren's welted cheeks. The nanny hissed at the contact, but he pressed into it with another whimper. He knew what Roland wanted, and he was trying! With several shaky breaths, Warren managed to uncurl his toes and lower his heels to the floor, thighs quivering as his mind tried to force his body to obey.

“_Pleassee, just... get it over with_!” Warren begged. Roland only gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment, stepping back and readying his aim. _Swish, crack-snap! _The sound of the cane snapping in half was deafening, and both of the room's occupants spent several ticks of the clock in silence. Finally, Warren's breathy exclamation broke the spell. “_Oooww_! D-did it really, is it broken?” He lifted to his elbows to glance back over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his welts throbbed and burned with a life of their own. Sure enough, Roland only held a third of the cane, the end having broken off on Warren's right thigh.

“Eleven, I suppose, and your thighs have won the battle. So I'll concede number twelve, and not owe you one.” Roland remarked, feeling rather remarkably satisfied for some reason. His eyes swept over his handiwork as Warren immediately protested with a whine in his tone.

“I would _hope _not!” The nanny gave something of a laugh, but it nearly ended with a sob, relief flooding over him. Roland set the broken cane onto the table, reaching into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief embroidered with Roland's initials. Warren accepted it when it was offered, wiping his eyes first, and then blowing his nose. Roland's hand came to rest on Warren's lower back.

“_Stay. _Collect yourself. Then you may follow me.” Roland's voice was low, calm, but the inflection at the end betrayed his satisfaction. He turned and walked over to the door that separated the study from his bedroom, and he opened it. He left it open when he passed through, stepping into the darkness. Warren could see a light spark up within that darkness, but he couldn't really see inside at this time of night. Once alone, Warren felt very _cold, _and quite exposed. And of course, he was in quite a bit of pain. It wasn't really like Roland to leave him like that, but right now Warren would have trusted anything that the older man said and did, so long as it would please Roland. After a few moments his breathing had almost returned to normal, and tears had ceased to fall. Wiping his tears and nose one last time, Warren took a steadying breath, and stood.

“_Fuck,_” he whispered under his breath, the crease of his ass where it met his thighs having accumulated at least two welts, which was going to make doing _anything_ rather unpleasant for a while. He reached back to touch the welts on his left cheek, running his fingertips over them with a quiet hiss of appreciation. He didn't have to see them to know they were in perfect form. Having been on the receiving end of the caning from a few men who couldn't hit the side of a barn with their spit, Warren was forever grateful for the butler's impeccable aim. Knowing how Roland hated dawdling, Warren glanced over to the door. Swallowing, he turned, bare feet quiet on the cold floor as he crossed it.

It was the creak of those boards that gave away his approach, and Roland glanced up from his seat on the bed. He sat with his back against the middle of the headboard, raven hair about his shoulders, glasses off, and his shirt seemed to be missing as well. The blankets covered him from the waist down, and he was holding a round open tin in his left hand. “I wondered how long you'd take. Did you think I wanted to spank you some more?” Roland asked, lifting a brow. Warren's eyes dropped to his feet, and he grabbed his wrists behind his waist, kicking at the floor.

“No... A little.” He admitted, almost sheepishly. “I didn't know how angry you were with me.”

“I'm not angry any longer. We have a lot to talk about, that much is true. But I'm not angry. But all of that is for a later conversation.” Roland lifted his right hand. “Come.” He didn't have to ask twice, as Warren's head lifted so quickly that his stray curls bounced, crossing the space between the door and the bed swiftly. Taking Roland's hand, he climbed onto the bed. Warren frowned when he was halted there, turning confused green eyes towards his lover. “Where is your place, Warren? Tell me that you've remembered.”

“Oh yes, Sir. Thoroughly.” Warren readily professed, desperately even. “If you'll just permit me to _show _you.” He added, almost shyly. Roland's hand drew away, and Warren moved forward on his hands and knees. Crawling halfway across his lover's lap, he lowered his chest first, and then his hips, so that they came to rest with his welted and flushed bottom directly on display over Roland's lap. “_I'm here._” Warren whispered, tears stinging his eyes once again. He gasped as he felt Roland's long fingers touch the lowest welt on his thighs, cooled and made slick by the coconut oil that he'd collected from the tin in his other hand. Fingers curled into the cool sheets, and he fought the urge to squirm as the soothing lotion was spread over his welts, one by one. It was agonizingly slow, and somewhat painful, but Warren relished each and every second of it.

“I'm pleased that you've remembered.” Roland _did _sound pleased, though also with himself. It made Warren give a small laugh, muffled by the blankets. For a long moment they remained like that; Warren drunk on endorphins of pain and relief, and the man that gave him both, and Roland utterly enraptured by the lanky young man over his lap, all but writhing under the mere touch of his fingers, the same man who had willingly allowed him to deliver those welts. Most of them were going to bruise, and would be very inconvenient for the active nanny in the coming days. He was sure that very fact was running through Warren's mind as well, and so the fact that his lover was behaving so well for him right now was all the more meaningful. After some quiet reflection, Warren turned his face to the side, giving a small smile.

“What are you going to do about the cane? _Ooh..._” Those eyes closed again as the welts in the crease of his thighs and bottom were reached. Roland rubbed them liberally with a melting piece of coconut oil, loving the feel of the red hot heat of that ridged flesh just under his fingertips. “J-just stick to your hand?” Warren whimpered as Roland pressed a little harder under the left cheek, right on a welt.

“I suppose I'll have to buy a new one. Don't suppose you can get the day off to come and test a few out?”

“_Ow, _s-sorry_, _that just won't be possible. A-absolutely swamped with work, and my butler is sort of a stiff about wasting time.” Warren retorted, giving a little wiggle to escape those punishing fingers. Roland relented with a chuckle, moving on to a welt on his right cheek.

“Shame, but I have a feeling you'll meet the new cane soon enough.” Roland replied. Warren gave a short, dry laugh, glancing over his shoulder.

“I _honestly _have _no _intention of finding myself under your cane any time soon, Sir. I'll be on my best behavior, I swear. Whatever you want, I'll do it. Just please, don't ever think I don't know my place again. It's impossible to forget, it's practically all that I think about! How to end up right _here_... Spanking or not, though I know I need it first more often than not.”

“And if I _wanted_ to use the cane on you?” Roland asked boldly, and Warren was stunned into silence for a moment. His expression swiftly shifted from surprised, to color spreading all the way up from his neck to heat his cheeks. Green eyes half-lidded, Warren's gaze off to the side, he bowed his head again.

“_Then, you will_.” Warren murmured. It seemed so small, but they had never really spoken about it. Much more often than not, discipline was the reason to spank Warren. It could be from something at work, or his smart mouth in private, there was no end to the potential reasons for a spanking. For a long time now, Warren had wondered if sometimes Roland thought he _had _to look for a reason. He'd thought that was a silly thing to think at first, of course. Roland surely knew he could do practically anything he wanted with Warren, and the younger man would hardly complain, right? Well, all that mattered was that he knew it _now. _And that opened up a lot of doors for the two of them. Roland was right, they had _a lot _to talk about. Later.

“Good boy, Warren.” Roland praised, fingertips returning to another welt, and spreading the blessed lotion which allowed the air to cool the raised and heated flesh. Warren could have sworn that he was melting just like the coconut oil, his entire body warm and fuzzy, almost tingly. Tomorrow's problems were for tomorrow. Tonight, he was Roland's, and Roland was his. Warren had _earned _his place over Roland's lap over years and countless spankings, and he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
